I clap his shoulder. "He grew up."
He pulls back and holds me at arm's length.
Studies the cut, the bottom rocker, the way it sits on my frame.
His expression shifts from pride to something deeper.
The look of a man who sent a boy to West Virginia and is meeting the man who came out the other side.
"Your mom cried when I told her about the patch." He releases my shoulders. "Called me six times. Wanted to know if you were eating enough."
"She always wants to know if I'm eating enough."
"She's your mother. That's the job." He takes the beer I offer him and leans against the truck beside me. "Your dad would've been proud, Caleb."
The name sounds different in Vulture's voice. Warmer. The Chicago version of me, the version that existed before the compound and the prospect years and the plaster dust.
We stand there for a minute. Drinking. Watching the party through the open doors of Backroads.
Brothers and their women and locals who've stopped treating Saylor like a Halstead and started treating her like a Bell—the girl who pours their drinks, remembers their orders, and threw a man's tip back at him when he made a comment about her father.
"So," Vulture takes a long pull from his bottle. "You finished college. You're patched. Morgantown chapter's treated you right."
I nod. "They have."
He turns the bottle in his grip. "Chicago misses you."
I look at him.
"I'm serious." His voice loses the cousin warmth and picks up the president weight. "I could use a man with your skills. Cybersecurity, network infrastructure, the digital side of operations. Nobody in my charter can do what you do."
He takes another pull. "Krypton trained you, WVU educated you, and the Morgantown chapter proved you."
He turns to face me. "But Chicago is home, Caleb. Your mom's there. Your people are there. I've got a seat at my table with your name on it."
The offer hangs between us in the June air.
A year ago, I would have considered it. Six months ago, the pull of Chicago—the city, the family, the noise of a place that raised me—would have been strong enough to make me hesitate.
I don't hesitate.
"I appreciate it." I set my beer on the truck bed. "And I love you for offering. But this is my home now."
Vulture studies me. Not surprised. Reading.
"This clubhouse. These brothers. Ruger's table." I look through the open door of Backroads.
Saylor is behind the bar, laughing at something Tildie said, the sunlight through the window catching her hair.
Her mom is beside Leah, refilling a plate of cornbread.
Ellie is pointing at Maddox with a spatula and whatever she's saying is making Bloodhound laugh so hard he has to set his drink down.
I nod toward the bar. "Her.She'smy home. And she's here."
Vulture follows my gaze. Watches Saylor pour a beer.
He nods. Slow, certain.